


Break [Sam/Kevin]

by badbastion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Channing Ngo/Kevin Tran - Freeform, Competency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Foreign Language, Hair Kink, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Language Kink, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Size Difference, Size Kink, Spoilers, Supernatural Season 08, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbastion/pseuds/badbastion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Kevin get off on each other's brains, then through more traditional means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break [Sam/Kevin]

 

The first time Sam tapped his finger next to Kevin’s notes and read back a few words of Enochian, Kevin looked up, startled. Sam’s slight Midwestern accent sounded exceedingly strange, but there was no doubt he knew what he was talking about.

Sam had always been the smart one; Kevin just hadn’t realized _how smart_. The others, Garth and Castiel and Meg, and Dean especially, still confounded him, often enraged him, and occasionally scared the shit out of him. At first, Sam had too, this giant man with giant shoulders and a sloping forehead, who had lifted Kevin off of the ground like he was a sack of groceries, frowning and shaking him so hard his bones had rattled. A caveman, Kevin had thought, until he'd begun to pay attention. Knowing that, out of the handful of people he spoke to, he had a kindred spirit in Sam eased the ache of loneliness over the long weeks of sweating over what was possibly the most important thing in the world, all alone.

Perhaps a week after the brief visit in which Sam and his brother had come by and insisted that he take care of himself, Kevin sat, eating his last apple as he pored over his notes, his books and scrolls spread out on his table. Kevin snapped his head up at the creaking of the deck outside, then Sam ducked through the door. He was somehow different: energy seemed to flicker inside him, and big as he was, he seemed even larger than life now, blocking all the light from the outside. It was almost overwhelming to look at him.

Kevin scrubbed a hand across his chin and found that it was smooth, which meant he’d showered within the last day or two. He had taken some of their advice to heart, and was glad of it now as Sam lumbered in, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair.

“Hey,” Kevin said.

“Hey,” Sam said back, smiling. “What are you working on?”

Kevin smiled back and passed him a sheet of notes. Sam’s conversational voice was soft and friendly, if a little rough around the edges, and his big hands were exceedingly careful when handling old parchment or books, or even Kevin’s notes. As if they were something precious. Seeing Sam’s finger hover over Kevin’s crazed, strangled notes gave Kevin a little thrill, and when Sam untangled them in a way that placed a puzzle piece in its proper place, it made Kevin forget about the thrill entirely. His vision blurred, snapped in and out of focus, and the symbols on the tablet jumped out in stark relief. Sam’s voice slowed, distorted. The Prophet in him took over, sinking its claws into his brain.

When Kevin was finally aware of the space around him, he had a new pile of notes scattered before him, and Sam was gone. Kevin tried not to be disappointed. Exhausted as he was, though, he didn’t have the energy to shake it off.

He shuffled to the bathroom. There on the warped little mirror was a note:

_Take care of yourself._

_—Sam_

Like it could be from anybody else. In Sam's slanted handwriting, the note was squared up with the edges of the mirror and taped on lightly. Kevin could see it; one touch of the tape to the paper, one touch to the tape on the mirror. Kevin thought of notes clinging to the walls of hotel rooms, of quick getaways where Dean or Sam ripped all the notes away and shoved them in a bag. Or folder. Kevin shook his head, the vision losing its structure. He smiled and carefully peeled the tape away from the mirror and observed the whorl of Sam’s fingertip on the tape. The side of his dresser still had plenty of room for notes.

 

 

Through the next week, Kevin finished off the fresh food in the package Sam had left with him during his last visit, and was down to microwavable oatmeal packets, peanut butter sandwiches, and hot dogs. Still an improvement, as were his impatient five-minute shower/teeth-brushing grooming sessions in the morning, but he’d been skimming hours off of his sleep again.

He groaned and covered his eyes one morning, woken by the smell of aromatic coffee. Though he hadn’t seen a soul in so many days, still Garth was not the best of company at six in the morning.

However, Kevin had work to do; he was finally making headway with the second trial. Yanking his shirt down over his head and slipping his shoes on, he took the few short, squeaking steps to the living-room/kitchen/dining-room/study, and tightly grasped the doorway when he saw Sam at the counter, his broad back moving, head ducked. Clink of ceramic on counter-top.

“Want some coffee?” Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder. His hair was tucked behind his ear and his eye was creased in a smile. Kevin’s stomach lurched.

He nodded, lips stretched in a thin smile, and padded to the counter beside Sam to grab his bowl and shove his hand into his box of instant oatmeal packets.

“Brought you some more food,” Sam said, nodding to his other side, which had been blocked by his body.

Kevin smiled. A bag of English muffins, some bananas, blackberries, peaches, oranges, grapefruits. “Wouldn’t want your only prophet getting scurvy, would you?” he asked, lips quirking up further. Sam laughed and Kevin turned away, biting his tongue as he put away the instant oatmeal.

They sat at the edge of the table, Kevin’s notes swept aside just enough to clear a few square inches of space for their coffee cups and a paper plate of breakfast.

Kevin took a sip of his coffee. it burned a warm line down his throat and into his stomach, and he could feel a burn in his cheeks as well. Sam apparently knew how he took his coffee, and this, this _agitation_ around Sam was going to have to stop.

It was just that… Sam was smart and kind, and when he stole a blackberry from Kevin’s plate it looked so tiny between his fingers, and he smiled so disarmingly when Kevin made whatever face he made then. Okay, so it was _definitely_ a crush.

It wasn’t unreasonable, after all; Kevin had known he was about a two on the Kinsey scale. He knew he’d never get over Channing’s death, but when he wasn’t consumed with connecting all the broken pieces of God’s word, he’d come to dearly miss calling her (her familiar, comfortable voice and her sharp mind, and the little endearments she’d slipped in almost shyly), missed talking to her on the phone when he was stressed more than he’d missed their hand-holding dates and their closed-eyed, closed-mouthed kisses. Which had been sweet and lovely and had made him smile, but…

Sam. Kevin looked at Sam’s lips, which had taken on a reddish stain from the blackberries he’d been pilfering, one by one.

If he kissed Sam, it wouldn’t be like that at all. If he kissed Sam, and Sam put those hands on him, and he felt the little puff of Sam breathing through his nose…

Kevin shifted in his seat.

“Something wrong?” Sam asked.

“No, nothing.” Kevin shook his head. “What brings you by?”

Now Sam shook his head, his hair doing something complicated and fascinating. “Nothing, really. I just wanted to check up on you, see how things were going. See if I could help with anything.”

“Okay,” Kevin said with a shrug. “Same as they have been,” he said, words colored with the same frustration that dragged him through his days.

“Eat,” Sam said, gesturing to the plate and picking up another berry. “Before I eat it all,” he said, grinning.

As Kevin ate his breakfast Sam talked, told him little stories that didn’t mean much, but were nice to listen to. _Patter_ , Kevin realized. _This is what Sam does, in his FBI suit. Gets them comfortable, gets them to trust him_. Kevin wasn’t bothered; he actually enjoyed this little glimpse through the crack into Sam’s life. He let himself be talked to, smiling at all the right times, because he didn't think that Sam was doing it to get him to spill some state secret. Sam just wanted to talk.

So instead of picking up his notes right away once he’d placed his plate in the trash, Kevin talked back. Told Sam about his field trip to D.C. and how he’d planned to spend the first two weeks after his graduation, chatted about a few other incidental things, then Sam told him a story about Dean infiltrating a tourist group, sandals-and-socks and fanny-pack and all, that had Kevin clutching his stomach and laughing.

Kevin watched Sam duck his head, watched his eyes and mouth go through a quick, complex range of emotions before he looked up and gave Kevin a fond smile.

Kevin bit down on the inside of his cheek. This man, this violent hunter and killer of things no one even believed in, this man who was undertaking a series of heroic trials dictated to him from a Tablet of the Lord, this man whose brain was a repository of esoteric lore, this man who was comfortable speaking to actual angels and demons both, and who knew what else, this impossible man had come onto the houseboat bearing fruit and coffee and had given Kevin a precious half-hour of normalcy in which he forgot how utterly insane his life had so recently become.

Kevin smiled back for a few seconds, and then he couldn’t handle the tightness in his chest any longer.

“So, since you were here last,” Kevin said, reaching for the top-most stack of notes. Sam scooted his chair forward and leaned in, quietly following Kevin's lead.

“I’ve almost figured out the second trial,” he said, and watched tension prick up Sam’s shoulders, watched the muscles of Sam’s corded forearms twitch.

“Good,” Sam said. “Good. Show me.”

Kevin took a handful of papers and walked to his wall of notes and Sam followed, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“So,” Kevin said, “If I’ve translated the Latin properly, this line connects with this, and it tells me that—”

“Let’s see the Latin,” Sam said, and Kevin handed it over.

Sam scanned the page, then began reading aloud. Kevin watched him, watched his lips move as Sam read so fluently Kevin could have sworn Latin, the dead language, was Sam’s first language.

“Here,” Sam said, outlining a passage with his fingertip. “Slight mistranslation. I think this may change things a little.”

He handed the papers back to Kevin, who took them, and made the necessary notations, still stunned. This _would_ change things, but Sam was too much of a distraction for him to think straight.

“Your Latin is incredible,” he said, glancing up at Sam from the corner of his eye.

Sam smiled. “Yours isn’t so bad, either. Give it another five years.”

” _¿Hablas español?_ ” Kevin asked.

” _Estoy proficiente en español. Es un precioso idioma. ¿Y tú?_ ”

Kevin grinned. “ _Sí. Sprichst Du auch Deutsch_?”

” _Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch,_ ” Sam said, looking sheepish. “I read and write German much better. The glottal stops throw me.”

” _Parles-tu français?_ ” Kevin said.

“ _Oui, un petit peu._ Enough to get by in Canada, anyway. _Watashi no nihongo wa warui koto de wa nai._ But not enough to blend in, in Japan.”

Kevin laughed, imagining Sam parting the sea of small Japanese men, twice the size of most of them, asking directions in his Midwestern-accented Japanese. “But Latin is your best, isn’t it. It’s beautiful. Read some more.”

Sam looked about, then picked up a cracked, leather bound book and opened it to the page marked by the red ribbon. He began reading, his body warm beside Kevin, his voice taking on a deeper timbre as he shifted completely into the language.

Kevin closed his eyes and felt it, nearly in love with the shapes of the words and the way the rhythm sank into his bones. He swayed slightly, remembering the feel of the cello between his knees, the deep resonance that shivered through him, the feel of thick strings under his fingertips, the way time melted away into pitch and depth and rhythm, Kevin rocking on a calm sea. Sam did this to him now, deep voice rocking him, and Kevin yearned for the tactile sensations. Wanted to feel Sam between his legs, wanted Sam’s hair in his hands.

His eyelids were heavy when he opened them to look at Sam’s mouth, pink tongue flickering behind his teeth, lips stained red.

Sam looked down, studied him, and Kevin felt his pulse racing. Kevin swallowed, gathered his courage. “Keep reading,” he said, and he barely escaped sounding plaintive.

Sam studied him for a moment more, his eyes narrowing and going darker. His tongue flicked over his lower lip, then he drew his eyes away from Kevin and back to the book.

Kevin was already half-hard, and he stiffened further when he closed his eyes; Sam’s voice had slowed, languid and smooth and it was like honey in Kevin’s veins. He felt himself breathing hard, and Sam slowed to a stop.

In Spanish, Sam said, “ _Shall I keep reading here? Or would you like to join me in your bedroom?_ ”

Kevin licked his lips, looked straight forward at the notes. If he looked at Sam, he doubted he’d be able to speak. To clear his mind, he answered in French, “ _I’d love to join you._ ”

Sam moved, his arm brushing Kevin’s back as he passed and Kevin pressed the heel of his palm against the base of his cock. Sam was a sensitive, attractive warrior-polymath. The perfect man, and he was waiting for Kevin in his bedroom.

The lamps were off, the only light fanning in through the angel-proofed window. Sam sat at the head of his narrow bed, boots off and legs spread over the edges. He gestured for Kevin to sit between his legs, but Kevin hesitated, hands shaking. He felt bold, drunk on arousal. Overly aware of the tent in his pants, he said, “Take your shirt off.”

Sam pulled away all the layers in one thick bundle, and Kevin swayed on his feet. Sam wasn’t the Greek archetype of manly beauty, his shoulders and pectorals too broad for that. He wasn’t da Vinci’s rounded, exaggerated figures; Sam was too smooth and youthful. He was a Caravaggio, full and detailed and dramatically lit; he was a Michelangelo, heavy and perfect and made of living stone.

Kevin took a breath, then peeled his own shirt off. It was gratifying to feel Sam’s eyes sweep along his body, lingering on face, chest and crotch. Sam shifted, and Kevin almost missed the bulge in Sam’s pants, he was so fascinated with the ripple of muscle.

Sam reached out and took Kevin’s hand, and Kevin happily let himself be manhandled into the vee of Sam’s legs, his back against Sam’s chest, the thrill of bare skin making him ache.

Sam’s nose skimmed his ear, Sam’s hands skimmed his chest and stomach, and Kevin let out a soft moan. Just two minutes in, and he’d never done anything like this. He remembered Channing’s small, cool hands on the bare skin of his waist under his shirt, remembered slipping a hand under her sweater to touch the soft skin of her lower back. And now he was being stroked all over, long callused fingers ghosting over his nipples, a warm, open mouth on his shoulder.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” Sam whispered, the breath in Kevin’s ear making him shudder and break out in goosebumps.

“Yes,” Kevin hissed, twisting in Sam’s hands and moaning again when he felt the hard bulge of Sam’s cock against his lower back.

Sam murmured in his ear, praising him in Latin as he stroked Kevin’s flexing stomach, whispering slow Spanish as he dipped his fingers under the waistband of Kevin’s pants.

“Oh god,” Kevin gasped, and he reached down with hands that had been floating awkwardly, not wanting to get in the way, to unbutton and unzip his jeans. He felt Sam’s indrawn breath, and Sam’s hand slipped between their bodies to adjust himself.

Now Sam’s cock was a hot, thick line nestled in the dip of Kevin’s spine, and Sam’s hands slipped down into his underwear, warm fingers tracing his hips. For minutes it was all breathing and touching, Sam’s mouth skimming from Kevin’s ear to his shoulder, their bodies trapped in a slow writhe. Then Sam wrapped an arm around Kevin’s chest and lifted him, dragged his jeans and briefs down with the other hand in one swift movement, and Kevin gasped when his cock bounced free of his underwear and slapped against his belly.

“Sam,” he whispered, tilting his head back, looking at his red mouth, and then Sam was kissing him, lingering sweetness from the blackberries. His lips were soft and careful for only a few seconds before he slid his tongue into Kevin’s parted mouth, the tip of his grazing Kevin’s. Eyes squeezed tight, Kevin surged upwards, needing more of Sam’s mouth, his lips and tongue and teeth and the stubble of his chin making Kevin twitch and smear precome on his stomach. Then Sam started touching him again, hands sliding down Kevin’s thighs then back up, fingertips skimming Kevin’s balls, thumbs coming up to brush through Kevin’s pubic hair, hands forming a diamond shape around Kevin’s groin.

“Can I?” Sam asked, his lower lip still brushing Kevin’s. “Are you sure?”

”Oh _God_ ,” Kevin groaned, thrusting up against the gentle cage of Sam’s hands, heat twisting hard in his stomach.

Sam groaned deep in his throat and drew his fingers inward, smoothing over Kevin’s tight balls before he stroked up his shaft. He wet his fingertips on the tip of Kevin’s cock, then stroked down.

Kevin watched with his mouth wide open, watched Sam’s hand engulf him, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he carefully peeled Kevin’s foreskin down. Kevin had a moment of self-consciousness; he looked so tiny in Sam’s hand. Then he felt Sam’s hard chest swell against his back, felt Sam’s cock twitch against his spine, and remembered that anyone would look small, in a giant’s hand.

“You’re so hot,” Sam said against the side of his neck, then began breathing Latin into Kevin’s shoulder. It was fire under Kevin’s skin, it sizzled in his nerves, made him buck up into Sam’s hand and squeeze Sam’s knees. Sam was halfway into something vaguely familiar when Kevin’s mind caught on.

“ _…ferus pectora versat Amor._  
Cedimus, an subitum luctando accendimus ignem?  
cedamus! leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus.”

This, Kevin remembered from Latin II, a love poem they’d been made to memorize.

_Thus it will be; slender arrows are lodged in my heart,_  
and Love vexes the chest that it has seized  
Shall I surrender or stir up the sudden flame by fighting it?  
I will surrender - a burden becomes light when it is carried willingly. 

—the poem went. It would have embarrassed Kevin, had Sam recited the poem in English, but now, hearing the Latin as it spilled from Sam's mouth, it moved him beyond arousal.

He sighed, a long, broken sigh and Sam pressed their lips together again in a wet lick of a kiss. Then Sam twisted his hand along Kevin’s dick and took a deep breath, and when he let it out, it was laced with profanities, filthy talk even filthier after the clean, smooth Latin. _Your fucking body,_ Sam said, and _God, you’re so wet, I want to do so many things to you,_ he said, and _Come for me, wanna watch you come,_ and Kevin was helpless. Sam’s stroking hand dragged it from deep inside him, and Kevin felt wrenched inside-out as he bucked and spurted a hard jet of come against his stomach, then another, and more as he moaned helplessly, all the muscles from his ribs to his thighs pulsing in time with his orgasm.

“Ah, ah,” was all he could say as he came down, and he felt Sam wipe his forehead with his clean hand, felt Sam stroke his cheek and the side of his neck. “Ah,” he said as he felt Sam wiping him down, the sensitive head of his cock tingling almost painfully.

He felt Sam’s cock hard as ever against his spine, felt Sam’s rapid heartbeat against his back.

“Sam,” he said, twisting bonelessly. Muscles like water, he knelt between Sam’s thighs and bent forward to kiss him, hands spread over Sam’s hard pectorals. They were amazing, hard then soft under his hands, then hard again when Kevin tentatively touched his nipples. He let his fingers trip down over Sam’s abs, imagining it was his tongue instead and vowing to try that in the future. He found Sam’s jean’s unbuttoned, the tip of his cock pushing through, covered in the thin, wet fabric of his underwear.

They both moaned when Kevin traced the shape of his cock through his jeans, from the wet tip down to the fullness of his balls. It was short work to unzip Sam’s pants and draw his cock out through the opening of his underwear, and Kevin felt his own softened dick jump when he wrapped both hands around Sam, felt the smooth, warm skin of another man’s cock for the first time.

“Oh,” he said, fingertips tracing the length, measuring the girth of it, following the trails of prominent veins that wrapped around it. The head was fat and dark pink, sticky wet with precome, and Kevin brought his fingers to his mouth to taste it. It was… indescribable, and it turned Kevin on so much that the only thing he could do was start jerking Sam off. It was such a powerful thing, to feel Sam’s thick shaft swell and twitch under his hands, to see all those heavy muscles flex, to watch Sam throw back his head and moan.

”I’m already close,” Sam rasped, then he swallowed hard.

Kevin wet his lips and looked down, watched a rivulet of sweat slide down the sinuous center line of Sam’s stomach, watched the head of Sam’s cock go nearly purple, and Kevin could see how much Sam was holding himself back from bucking Kevin right off of him. Moaning, Kevin spit into his palm and made a wet tunnel of his hands, his own biceps flexing as he pumped Sam’s rock-hard dick until it pulsed in his grip. Sam gasped and shook as he came all over Kevin’s hands, his own stomach, the front of his jeans.

Sam grabbed his head and kissed him hard, still panting, and Kevin subtly wiped his hands on his sheets, then thrust his hands into Sam’s hair. It was just as thick and soft as he’d imagined, twining around his fingers, curls springing up at the ends when they came loose of Kevin’s grip. This kiss slowed until their lips slid apart, foreheads touching.

“You good?” Sam asked.

It was all very thoughtful of Sam to ask, and Kevin was sure it was just in his nature, but he didn’t feel like giving a simple, weak yes. He swallowed.

"If I'd known that was what you meant by a day off, I would have taken one a lot sooner," he said, voice getting steadier as he went.

He felt Sam’s whole head move as he smiled.

“We’ll have to try to work some more into your schedule,” Sam said. Silence spread between them for a long moment, then Sam gave him a firm kiss. “So, you wanna get in some more tablet time, then take another break?”

“Yes,” Kevin said, utterly relieved. Even Sam being here didn’t erase the pull of his need to finish, though it hadn’t come back until just a couple of minutes ago. “But you _have_ to put your shirt on. And no extraneous Latin. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam said, and he sealed it with a kiss.

 

the end

**Author's Note:**

> for #Seven days of Sevin on tumblr; day three is ‘first time,” but I didn’t know when I’d finish, so I went for knowledge, first time, and size difference, haha. Many many thanks to [randomstasis](http://randomstasis.livejournal.com/%22) for being so incredibly helpful with Japanese, and to [riyku](http://riyku.livejournal.com/) for being such a fantastic, thoughtful beta! Any mistakes left are my own :)


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